


Is This Okay?

by quadrotriticale



Category: All New X-Men (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, POV Laura, POV Second Person, sorry i write second person homestuck is hell and i cant fix my writing style im so sorry, thakns i dont know what im doing, this is super het but i love laura and warren so its ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: You open the door and step out. Your friends have stopped talking. They’re all staring at you.“...Anyone have a condom?”





	Is This Okay?

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in february 2017 (just edited it first because it's old and i'm a better writer than i used to be, fuck) and honestly just never posted it anywhere because im an idiot? so here. thanks. sorry it's in second person homestuck ruined my life

He’s had a bit to drink but not enough to totally cloud his judgement. Just enough to get him bothered, just enough that he's gone quiet, keeps close to you once you’ve looped an arm around his waist, keeps trying to steal kisses when he thinks no one is looking. You drink a lot more than him, but it’s so hard for you to actually get drunk that you aren’t anything more than a little buzzed, and you think that might even be a stretch. It takes a few jeers and a bit of playful teasing from your teammates for him to give you an embarrassed, sheepish look, and for you to steer him into another room.

You half expect him to be all over you once the door closes, but he’s not. He wouldn’t be, that’s not him, but you’ve done this enough times with strangers that it’s still odd and unexpected when he takes his time getting to the point, when he's gentle, when he stops to ask if you like that's going on. You're not really used to your opinion mattering. The room is dark, the only light coming from the crack under the door and the neon green of an unprogrammed alarm clock flashing 12:00 on the bedside table. It’s one of the bedrooms in the trailer; only Hank really lives here, but you’ve all spent nights. You’re not sure who’s this usually is, but you don’t care. You hope it’s yours or Warren's; you don’t want to desecrate someone else's room like this. You file away a reminder to do the laundry tomorrow, change the sheets, apologize for fucking your boyfriend in someone else's bed if it comes to that.

Warren draws your attention back to him with your name, quiet and gentle and like music on his lips, a sound that you like to hear just because of the way he says it in the dark. His pupils are blown out when he looks at you. You catch the thin rims of blue-grey in the near dark and surmise that you probably look the same, eyes a little wide and lips slightly parted. You just look back at him for a moment, his eyes, his lips… You move in to kiss him, open mouthed and a little messy when he joins in, because it's Warren, and he doesn't care if you're good at what you're doing, or at least that's what he tells you. His hands move to your hips, pull you close, and yours move into his hair. You press your body against his and he leans into you enthusiastically. 

There’s something warm about being wanted like this by someone who’s spent your entire relationship trying to protect you. He loves you, he wants you, you're more than happy to give yourself to him tonight because he's going to give everything back and you're slowly coming to the conclusion that you actually deserve that. You’re going to get laughed at in the morning, teased because your friends already know what you’re doing but you can live with that, as you guide him back to the bed, you think, you can live with that. You might actually even enjoy it.

The backs of your knees hit first and you break the kiss, your face still close to his, both of you breathing a little heavy. You move your hands, push the bottom of his shirt up until he gets the message and wiggles out of it on his own. You’re not sure you understand how to take off his shirts; you know how much he likes his clothes and you don’t want to ruin them, so you let him do it on his own. You look him up and down and he laughs a little, tone lending itself to letting you label it as bashful. You know he’s embarrassed, catch his wings flutter a bit before he tucks them tight to his back. He helps you out of your shirt, unhooks your bra which you then slide off your shoulders. He tries to pretend like he doesn't look at your chest, tries not to move his head perhaps because he thinks you can't see his eyes in the dark, but you catch it anyway, and you're struck with the need to cover yourself, a little, but you let him. He likes you. He likes your body, he thinks your attractive. You like the confirmation, you like his attention. You move backwards into the bed and he follows you carefully, stops when you do. You’re lying down, he’s hovering over you without really touching you. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low, a bit louder than a whisper like he's afraid to break the quiet. 

“This is okay,” you reply as you moves your arms up to his neck to pull him down. “I’ll tell you if it’s not.”

He hums and affirmation in response, lets you guide him down until you’re kissing again, slowly starting to move his body back down against yours. He’s definitely into it, you're very sure of that; you move your hips, lift them to press against his and he gasps, rolling his hips against yours in response. You get your tongue in his mouth and he’s putty in your hands. You’d like to get on top of him, but with his wings, he really can’t lay on his back even if he does sometimes just to snuggle with you. This is alright though. 

You’re both out of the rest of your clothes when he stops and asks if you have a condom. You shake your head, and he swears, looking kind of irritated. He looks a bit debauched otherwise, face red, lips a little swollen, hair a mess. You want to suck hickeys into his skin in places he’d have to hide with a turtleneck or a scarf, you want to mark him. 

“Check the drawers,” you tell him. He checks the end table drawers to no avail. “Ask someone out there.”

He stops, and then starts to giggle, tucking his face against your shoulder to stifle his laughter. “No way. Noooo way, Laura. I’m not asking one of them.”

“They already know what we’re doing, come on.” He shakes his head. You wiggle out from underneath him and slip off the bed, hands on your hips. “Okay, I will.” He protests, giggling still as you pull the blanket off the bed and wrap it around yourself like some barely held up cross between a towel and a dress. You hook it under one of your arms and do your best to keep it up. 

You open the door and step out. Your friends have stopped talking. They’re all staring at you.

“...Anyone have a condom?” 

Idie and Evan start to giggle; you can hear Warren losing it behind you, and Bobby joins in too. It takes a minute, but you do manage to get your hands on one; from Hank, surprisingly enough. You hear everyone questioning him, scandalized teens that they are as you walk back into the room. (His response to the question 'why do you have that?!' is something along the lines of a very awkward “just in case someone needs one” and the entire living room party breaks out in a fit of giggles. You think even Scott's laughing.)

You toss Warren the condom and slip back into bed. He sets it aside, heat of the moment more or less gone for now. 

He’s sitting, so you shed your blanket dress, leave it somewhere you don't really care about on the floor, discarded with your clothes, and climb not so gracefully into his lap, set your arms lazily on his shoulders and give him a kiss. He sighs, content, and returns it. There’s no real heat behind it, it’s slow, lasts all of ten seconds before he breaks it and rests his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, hands resting gently on your hips. He smells like expensive clothes and hair spray, like the feathers of his wings and foundation and something you couldn’t describe as anything other than Warren. It’s not quite intoxicating, but when you’re this close, it leaves you a little light headed. You like that smell, you like him. He’s good to you and you still aren’t used to that and what it means, but you like it anyway. You’re a person to him, you’re good. You don’t agree all the time, you're getting to a place where sometimes, you think he's right, but it’s okay that he actually believes that, someone has to. You can convince yourself that he’s right in quieter moments like this one. ‘No one else is Laura,’ he tells you when you get deep into your crises, and it’s times like this when you think you believe that being Laura actually means something. It’s times like this when that name belongs to you, and it's yours, and you deserve to have it. You feel like a person, genuinely, and that feeling is still new, you're still getting used to it.

He rubs little circles on your hips with the pads of his thumbs, gives you another little kiss to bring you back down to Earth with him.

“This is okay?” he asks gently. 

“This is okay,” you reply. You kiss him gently and he kisses you back, soft and careful for a while before you roll your hips down against him and his breath catches in his throat. You do that a few more times before he eases you back onto your back. 

You make out for a while, rut against each other before you put your hand on his chest and push him back. He looks confused, worry and concern working their way into his frown, before you point at that discarded condom. 

His eyes go dark, his expression changes to one of recognition and then something you're not quite sure how to describe. He grabs it, opens it with his teeth and rolls it on and you watch him with big eyes. He stops just before he starts, looks you in the eyes and asks again if it’s okay. It is. Of course it is. (You appreciate the fact that he asks, though.)

He finishes first, tosses the condom in the trash before turning his attention back to you. You’re not used to the people you sleep with caring about whether or not you finish, but you appreciate it after, when you’ve rearranged yourselves under a blanket.

Warren lays on his stomach, arms crossed under his head, head turned so he can look at you. You’re on your back under one of his wings. It’s a big room, he’s stretched them out lazily, slack and relaxed like the rest of them. You run your fingers over his feathers and he smiles when you turn your head look at him. His eyes are lidded, tired but warm, face still flushed. He’s handsome, even in the low light.

You talk, quietly and absently to each other. He’s calm, you’re comfortable. Tomorrow doesn’t matter and as far as you’re concerned, you’re the only two people in the universe.

When you fall asleep, you don’t dream, and when you wake up, you’re where you were when you dozed off and he’s there too, face slack, breathing steady. He seems peaceful.

You love him.


End file.
